


Lovefool

by LaTessitrice



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaTessitrice/pseuds/LaTessitrice
Summary: For 3 Days of Echo, day two: a season one AU.Starts towards the end of Episode two, when Liz rendezvous with Max in the desert.





	Lovefool

**Author's Note:**

> Kindly betaed by maxortecho

The sun rises early this time of year, but it doesn’t matter because Liz has barely slept when she finds herself out in the desert at daybreak.

She hadn’t put much thought in the time when she arranged to meet Max out here. It had seemed romantic, a clandestine arrangement to kiss at sunrise. But she’s learned too much in the hours since.

He doesn’t hear her approach, her creeping across the ground so it doesn’t crunch and give her away. She just wants a moment. A moment to watch him, without him knowing there are eyes on him, bathed in the soft morning light.

The handprint has faded, but her urge to touch him, to be close to him, to erase the distance between them is still there. She knew it would be: she may have buried thoughts of Max Evans in the years she was gone, but only because they always brought this yearning with them. She’d thought it was a yearning for an opportunity missed, for a soft, innocent chance at love blown to pieces in the wake of Rosa’s death, but now she’s returned she’s not so sure. Every part of her wants to be close to him.

That’s the problem, knowing what she knows now. An alien killed Rosa. Was it him? He’s lied to her, and she knows, she  _ knows _ , it’s because he knows the truth. But was it his handprint covering Rosa’s face, or someone else’s? Could the quiet, eager boy she’d known been responsible for such a horrific act, or was he merely a witness?

Whatever the answer, it means she must ignore the way her breath catches as he moves, broad shoulders and long legs a temptation she must resist. Even if he did save her father’s life. Even if everything her father told her indicates Max is the good man she always assumed he would become.

He turns, away from the cliff-edge and coming face to face with her. She’s as startled as he is, them both taking a breath as the moment is upon them. 

Liz thought she’d know what she wanted by the end of the drive up here, but it turns out she’s not sure of anything.

“Hey,” he says.

Max has fresh injuries on his face—the kind that come from a fight, and does knowing he probably got them protecting her father from Wyatt Long make it better, or worse? Her father wouldn’t need protecting if it weren’t for an alien—but is she rushing to judge Max before she knows the full story?

He steps closer, ducks his head almost sheepishly. Has to tuck a long strand of hair behind one ear, and none of this is fair, because Liz wants to be able to touch his hair that casually, as casually as the wind that almost immediately undoes his work. Her fingers itch at her sides but she’s still frozen in indecision.

Is Max Evans a good man? Is he a killer? Both? 

“So Wyatt Long shot me,” she says. “For revenge because Rosa killed his sister.”

If that isn’t the truth—if Wyatt Long’s vengeance was directed at the wrong family—Max doesn’t flinch or correct her understanding.

“Wasn’t just revenge,” he replies. His eyes are warm, sincere. This close, she can see there’s a halo of golden brown in them, only visible when the sun hits them the right way. “It’s racism—guys like that…listen, I don’t wanna talk about him.”

This is it. Liz supposes she can’t expect a man to come along on a promise for a kiss and casually stand around talking about murder. She waits for him to initiate it, her body coiled in anticipation, but instead he continues.

“Okay, I have to tell you—I lied to you.” He takes a breath; she cannot breathe, waiting for whatever’s going to come next. “Ever since I healed you I’ve felt wrong, like there’s a tornado inside me and I can’t fight it and I can’t run from it—except for when I’m with you.” 

It’s not the confession she wants, even if it’s still one parts of her thrills at. He’s so earnest, easily baring this part of himself to her when neither of them really understand it. It’s seductive, the way he makes it clear she means something to him, something visceral and uncontrollable.

Max steps even closer, and she only has a moment to decide. She needs to come up with an excuse—tell him the effect faded when the handprint wore off, or that she has a fiance waiting for her in Denver—but the words won’t come. Her tongue is still, a silent traitor, as her gaze tracks down from his mouth to his torso, where his skin is framed by the pale blue of his shirt. 

That urge, that need to touch, comes roaring back—like it ever really left—and she knows he’s waiting for a response. But what response can she give him? That even though being in his presence, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, steals her breath and sends a cascade of butterflies rushing through her, she’s also a little terrified of him? That being close to him calms her too, like a comfortable rush of morphine, but she can’t shut off the questions in her head?

That she’s petrified if he does turn out to be a killer, she’ll still feel all these urges but never get to act on them?

If her tongue refuses to act, her hands don’t, stealing out to trace their way up the softness of the denim covering his chest. Higher, briefly attempting to frame those broad shoulders—but she is too small, in comparison—and then cupping the back of his neck, pulling his face down to hers.

Her mind shuts off.

There’s a rightness to this. For all that Max’s thing is manipulating electricity, there are no fireworks, no sparks, as their lips move together, but there is shifting within her, her armor quaking dangerously.  _ This is where you belong _ , her body insists as he loops an arm around her waist and pulls her flush against him. She doesn’t argue—not with him, not with her body—melting into him and opening her mouth to his.

She can’t help herself, fingers finally delving into his hair, mussing up the waves and tugging at the errant lock which keeps falling into his face. His skin scratches over hers, stubble marking her: proving she’s been kissed, and kissed thoroughly. It’s addictive, numbing her to everything but the slow slide of his mouth, his tongue, his fingers on an exposed strip of skin at her waist.

Only when he pulls away momentarily, with the same glazed look she must be wearing—kiss-drunk and giddy—does reality come bursting back to her, a cold shard behind her ribs when she remembers Rosa and all she has learned. She needs answers. She can’t let herself be drugged into betraying Rosa by his kisses.

She stumbles away, mindful of the way his grip loosens immediately, letting her go, even as his elation fades. 

“You were right,” she says, and the words sound hollow, even to her own ears. “The—the handprint faded and I don’t feel the way you do.” She stutters her way through her excuse, a pathetic lie anyone can see through. How could he believe it after what they just shared? 

“But we just—”

“I know.” She swallows. “I wanted to see what it was like.” She lifts her chin, forces herself to meet his eyes. “Before I left, I said I didn’t want to kiss you and leave. This time, I’m not going anywhere. So.” How is it so easy for them to lie to each other like this, when they fit together so well?

The effect is immediate. He shutters himself off, face crumpling as he takes her words at face value. “Right.” He steps away, turning his back, and it’s enough for her to get a full breath, grounding herself, Rosa’s name as a mantra in her mind. Rosa is all that matters. The truth, for her. Doesn’t matter that her skin echoes with the feel of him, or that the taste of him is still in her mouth. It’s all ashes anyway, when the next thing he does is lie to her again, and she in turn.

One kiss will have to be enough for a lifetime.


End file.
